


DANCE OF INANNA

by SILKCUT



Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [12]
Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Former Lovers - Freeform, Gen, Inscribed by SILKCUT, Twitter Roleplay Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29076456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SILKCUT/pseuds/SILKCUT
Summary: She could feel that desire boil right from the pulse of their necks, simmering under the guise of their well-groomed appearances. Ishtar intimately knew the lusts of mortal men. She did not have to endure them like most powerless women do in her position, no, but rather she demanded such worship and devoured it with gusto.
Relationships: Destruction of the Endless/Ishtar (The Sandman)
Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132040





	1. Chapter 1

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**ﾒ**

Ｅｍａｎｉ Ｉｎａｎｎａ Ａｔｉｙｅｈ

**ﾒ**

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## Ｉｌｌ-Ｆａｔｅｄ Ｔｉｅｓ

##  **༻✧**

Three flights of stairs to climb in the last twelve years; that's the crucible of Ishtar's every day living as a modest woman working at Suffragette City. 

It wasn't even the fatigue brought by the climb or the slow descent, but rather the undercurrent of irony that marked each step. It called to mind the mythical Sisyphus, and if she still had a sense of humor, she would appreciate the bleak similarity.

But Sisyphus didn't have to strip for a living now, did he? 

The building she lived in was as shitty as it's ever going to get, but she had a roommate and coworker she could split the bills with, and it was this quiet, wiry built girl named Tiffany.

They divided the chores and errands between them too, and it was Ishtar who frequently went out for weekly groceries. On any other day, venturing the staircase would have been mundane, but tonight, she was in a rather contemplative mood.

There's still a restlessness to her, an ache, that in the old days she could always quench through indulgences so alien to the modern man, if not misconstrued or made obsolete.

And they look past her now too, the men, whenever she strolled the streets like any other pair of legs or attractive face. It varied when she's on a platform at least, scantily dressed and ready to bare it all in time with the rhythm of a song. By then the men would flock below the stage; some unknowingly inattentive, others inebriated and eager for a quick wank, while only a few truly savored the spectacle and kept their eyes on her.

Gods need to be adored and worshipped so they could survive and remain in power; and in lieu of a great temple, and with the scarcity of the faithful, Ishtar was forced to make due with the patronage offered alone by perverts and cheating spouses.

This was no altar, and she was no longer a god. Suffragette City had to be her home, and in its pale imitation of one, she was just like any another stripper who needed to earn her keep.

## ➷

The unraveling of her routine had begun five months ago with a young boy, seventeen of age. He was a Pakistani, dusky-skinned and shy, who came to the nightclub with his uncle during a lazy Tuesday afternoon. In spite of the misleading appearance of his six-foot-two frame and moderately well-grown moustache, Ishtar could smell the youth and inexperience in him. 

He would have been so very easy to overlook if it wasn't for the fact that he followed her gliding across the platform with fear and longing in those dark eyes that she hasn't seen in a man since the old days. She understood too well the budding desire that took root in his heart, and the panic and apprehension that came along with it. And so, as soon as they locked gazes, Ishtar moved close to the table he was seated on.

The uncle nodded in approval beside him. He had obviously brought the young man to give him a taste of what women of this repute could offer. Ishtar ignored the old fool, or rather, she poured herself only on the boy whilst she danced, and it must had drowned him for she might as well be a deluge and he a cup, struggling to keep all of her inside.

The boy was called Naveen, a befitting name, especially after what he became for Ishtar in the months that followed. Even in her lesser form as an ex-deity, Ishtar could still render anyone she wanted for herself to become infectiously enarmored with her. And oh, how deeply she craved and then claimed this boy as her consort. True, she commanded his soul with just the mere sway of her hips, combined with the devastating allure of her eyes, but Naveen--with his persistence mixed with sweet naiveté that drew her in--also had quite an impressive grip on her heart that for a few millenniums she thought will never beat for anyone again...

...let alone bleed.

For as enchanting as their love affair bloomed during their courtship days and nights of passion, so to was the swiftness in how it crumbled--merely come undone with the painful interjection of another girl coming into play. She was much closer to his age too, one whom he started to gradually covet when things with Ishtar became either too intense or underwhelming to his liking. 

It was overly clichéd, really, and Ishtar never should have expected otherwise. Love to her meant something entirely different, and so was it for the boy. The deftness of the love she bore for him was compounded by the previous heartbreaks and betrayals she had suffered and mourned for in the past, turning her feelings for Naveen almost desperate and aggressive in its intent of ownership. 

Meanwhile, his love for her was an intoxication that would only last until such time he had sobered up. This love had an incomparable newness in which he savored her air of mystery but never tried to know her beyond the surface level; and he simply partook in the thrilling novelty of standing next to her greatness when he still cannot believe she even considered him an equal.

Ultimately, they never were on the same ground.

Ishtar wanted him to become the man she knew he could be--a lifelong companion. But Naveen only wanted his first experience of a woman to be unforgettable yet not necessarily permanent. If she still had her powers, she would have given him the whole world and a throne to sit on as he ruled it, and the boy still would outright refuse that privilege. 

There was nothing more he could have gained from her except that experience of first love and passion alone. 

And though she may have been his First of Everything, he could never choose to stay by her side. Another future has opened up for him, with a girl far more accessible and one whom he perceived to be a more compatible mate. This made Ishtar feel as if she has been reduced into nothing more but a treasured memory tucked away and rarely put on display.

Long ago, in civilizations whose sovereigns relied on divine providence, temples were erected in her name. Animals slewn and feasts held for her sake so that a woman's fertility was guaranteed, or that men would receive great favor during battle. And today, in this brave new world, a boy of seventeen just broke her heart.

And it almost killed her.

It was bad enough that the sanctity of her religion was abolished a millennium ago, with her titles and practices being absorbed by a more popular faith. This henceforth sent her scavenging for devouts until she landed in Suffragate City, beckoning any willing man or woman who would treat that platform and pole she danced in as an altar to pay tribute and worship her. 

It had never been enough for Ishtar, and will never be enough. 

Until Naveen, she wouldn't have accepted just how starved and poorly fed she was with these scraps of faith thrown her way. And so, true to her very nature, Ishtar plotted her vengeance. She will rise to power once more, and even if she has to stumble all the way to get back to where she truly belonged, and hardly grasp what was once hers and hers alone, she could at least viciously punish those who had robbed her of divinity. And, really, since when has a goddess ever gone quietly before?

* * *

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**[@OHSHESTIRSCHAOS](https://twitter.com/ohshestirschaos) **

**ﾒ**

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	2. Chapter 2

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Ｅｍａｎｉ Ｉｎａｎｎａ Ａｔｉｙｅｈ

**ﾒ**

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## Ｒａｉｓｏｎ ｄ’êｔｒｅ

##  **༻✧**

**1954, Bᴀɢʜᴅᴀᴅ**

  
  
Olethros was late, and this displeased her more than she could ever bother to conceal. They had not seen each other for too many eras past, and certainly not since he recused himself from the duties of his realm.  
  
Disappointment over his haste decision lingered like an aftertaste in the gums, and yet she stood by him anyway as his ever loyal consort and almost-wife.  
  
Now, nearly a century later of slow unwinding; of many canceled rendezvous and unopened correspondence by mail, Ishtar still hoped that he at least never forgot what they had.   
  
(How can he? She was of divinity and he was of the Endless; a love like that was far more rare than the undiscovered mysteries of the ocean).  
  
The restaurant and bar they agreed to meet in was very crowded, alive in ways she hasn’t felt in ages. She chose a spot at the barstools where she’s certain no one can interrupt her solitude, so weary she was of entertaining men who desire to warm her bed but never learn her name.  
  
It was why she kept her eyes mostly on the empty martini glass as she faced the shelves of liquor on the opposite side.  
  
Her chin rested upon the palm of her left hand which exposed the bangles she wore around that wrist. Some were encrusted with jewels while the rest were made of gold. They tinkled each time she gestured at the bartender for another refill.   
  
It was now her fourth glass.  
  
The expression on her face, meanwhile, was exceptionally morose, though this sourness did nothing to tarnish the elegance of her finely shaped eyebrows, aquiline nose, and full lips that bore the shade of charcoal red.   
  
No words could ever describe her eyes, however. None will suffice.  
  
She was arresting, regardless of time and place; the kind of beauty that poets can never pen and artists could neither capture in brush nor clay.   
  
But at least a dance might do her justice—like the sonorous notes in a tribal procession, with its aggressive heavy bass punctuating each sway of hips.  
  
Ishtar has not danced like that in a long time, almost as long as Olethros' absence from human affairs and their chaos.  
  
The man was reaching a point when he’s no longer fashionably late, and she emphasized this by almost slamming the glass upon the ledge while she prepared to leave. It was enough of a gesture of protestation for the three men who lurked nearby to take this as their cue to approach.   
  
By their sallow skin, tailored suits and whiskey breath, she could surmise that they must be Americans. Tourists come here all the time, but their type always made themselves known like peacocks with their mating tails fanning out.  
  
Ishtar would have laughed. Did they think her departure from the stools was an invitation? She was hardly even drunk, but the way these men swarmed around her, you would think they want to sweep her off the floor and carry her all the way back to a room so they can at last take turns enjoying her body.  
  
She could feel that desire boil right from the pulse of their necks, simmering under the guise of their well-groomed appearances. Ishtar intimately knew the lusts of mortal men. She did not have to endure them like most powerless women do in her position, no, but rather she demanded such worship and devoured it with gusto.   
  
Tonight was different though. She came here to meet an old flame and not waste time dallying with undercooked cuisine which this trio of middle-aged men simply were to a starving goddess of old.  
  
They accosted her with disingenuous promises of a ‘good time', and when they could not coax her with pretty words they resorted to money next. Obviously, they had mistaken her for a whore, which Ishtar often went by whenever she visited establishments like this one so it was to no fault of their own to bear those presumptions.  
  
“We got blow upstairs too, little honey,” one of them who was massaging a spot on her spine whispered into her ear, “And not the cheap kind too, mind. A special cut. It has a kick that would make you feel like you’re almost immortal.”  
  
He kneaded her skin through the fabric of her dress as if he’s trying to touch her somewhere else more delicate.   
  
It took all her self-restraint not to burst out laughing right there and then. She should have, but instead, she responded in all graciousness, “And why would I be interested with ‘almost’ immortality?”  
  
｢I was a god, you small-minded pest. I was a god who could make cities tremble from Euphrates to Tigris during very bad moods｣  
  
Another one was getting handsy as well, using his grip on her shoulder to maneuver the rest of her body to whatever direction he wanted to command. He said, “Don’t be shy now. And you can even tell your pimp that he’ll get a higher interest if he'd let all of us take you for—say how many hours can we go for, boys?”  
  
The last one, who looked more like a voyeur than a participant, answered, “Two hours should just about do it, Danny.”  
  
And Danny's grip on her shoulder tightened while his other companion—the one who was rubbing her back—now slipped his hand to cup her by the buttocks.  
  
She was far too bored of this unsurprising turn of events that she barely flinched from the contact, but nor did her feet move from the spot.   
  
Ishtar may no longer have temples and devouts, but a goddess was still a force to be reckoned with. It would have been so easy to compel the men to cut off their own tongues yet she resisted.  
  
Just as she contemplated this punishment, her eyes flickered towards the entrance. A smile spread across her lips then, and in a flash she looked young and kind again.  
  
“Speaking of whom,” Ishtar spoke and nodded towards the glass doors, “There he is right now. So why don’t you ask him?”  
  
Olethros looked just about the same. Almost seven feet tall, he had to bend his head just to pass through the doors’ threshold. The first thing that stood out about him aside from his height was his vibrant fire-kissed hair, which he wore in a slick ponytail at the moment.  
  
Once he spotted her among unpleasant company, he strolled towards the barstools with the gait of a man who knows his way through the world. Everybody in the restaurant ogled at him in open curiosity, especially the men beside Ishtar. The only reason he didn’t look as threatening as the rest of his muscled bulk implied was because of that goofy grin he also had on.  
  
It brimmed with a warmth no one would expect from this mammoth of a male, since he resembled heroes from old paintings, the ones who battled monsters and vanquished evil mages.  
  
The very sight and memory of him from that forgotten time made Ishtar's heart flutter. Funny, she didn’t know it could still do that. But she supposed Olethros will always have that effect on her regardless of the many things left unsaid between them.  
  
“Hi, gents!” Cordial as ever, he reached to shake a hand from all of them. Danny tried to look like he wasn’t intimidated even as the other two took a step back. Their bodies instinctively recognized the alpha among the pack, Ishtar mused, as she chuckled this time.  
  
“Listen,” Danny explained as confidently as he could manage, “We were just asking the miss here about her services. How much do you charge for a night?”  
  
The situation was not lost to Olethros, but he pretended like this was nothing salacious by responding with, “Let’s head to the balcony. We can watch the stars. I’ve loved stargazing since—well, since there were stars! Do you know they’re alive? As alive as anything that is perpetually exploding light years away from Earth, that is.”  
  
He was already pushing the three males towards the balcony before any of them could even think about getting away. Given Olethros' physique and winning personality, it wasn’t as if they ever stood a chance turning down the offer of such a man.  
  
The balcony was located at the farthest west corner, which served more as an exterior lounge that clients can spend some time in for the sake of leisure. There were four couches that occupied each side, shaped like clam shells. It was a serene set-up ideal for something more private and away from prying eyes. Ishtar has thought about inviting Olethros here at first when she saw it, but a tiny part of her dreaded it would be too intimate, and that was the last thing she wanted.  
  
But here they are anyway.  
  
It was only after Olethros half-shoved the other men into the chilly night that he added, “Oh, and the lady is not for sale, fellas. I know you’re hard pressed to believe it, but not everything is, or should be.”  
  
Danny tried to stand up for himself and his friends by declaring, “Then that just won’t do, don’t it? Now, sir, we have no quarrel with you—”  
  
“You aren’t looking at the stars, Daniel Mason,” Olethros span the smaller man around so he was facing the balcony. With a booming yet cheery voice, he added, “You two, look at the sky! Come on!”  
  
Handsy pervert and impotent voyeur had no other choice but to do what was asked. They were shaking slightly, which Ishtar found hilarious as she leaned there against a wall to bear witness.  
  
“Hold on a sec! How did you even know my name?”  
  
But the large, imposing man ignored his question.  
  
“See? Stars! Like I was saying, they’re always in a state of chaos, on the brink of a death so final in which they become an endless vacuum of blackness. But humans only ever get to glimpse the beauty of their twinkling lights from where we stand now, gentlemen.”  
Still sounding as chipper as ever, Olethros wrapped his beefy arms around the three and lifted them an inch or two from the floor. In his embrace, they collectively looked like petrified birds put inside a cage.  
  
“And so you write songs and poems for these heavenly bodies without fully understanding the meaning behind what you see—only how they make you feel…” he looked at Ishtar this time.  
  
“... I think it’s the most admirable quality of mankind, no? That no matter how many plagues and massacres and wars they waged and endured, they still find inspiration to create again, even if it’s from something that was destroyed.”  
  
Sniffing and holding onto Danny and the two other men, Olethros shook them a bit, “I love you lot. So. Damn. Much. You don’t always accept liability, true, but jolly gee, you’re dreamers and innovators!”  
  
“Let us go…please?” the voyeur looked like he was near tears, so confused and afraid he was of this giant stranger suffocating them with a hug.  
  
“Who else could look at a frightening storm drowning everyone in its path, or a conflagration eating trees and animals like—and think they were acts of a god?”  
  
“Let us go, you weird fucking asshole!”  
  
But Olethros never loosened his hold. He laughed and kissed the top of the men's head first. It was so discombobulating in its maternal warmth. He mercifully let them back down the ground seconds later. Once they were released, they don’t even bother with goodbyes and scrambled back to the restaurant.   
  
Pushing herself off the wall, Ishtar waved in a queenly manner towards the men.  
  
And then she flipped them off with a middle finger once they’ve gone.  
  
Her attention soon turned to her punctual companion. The relaxed disposition Olethros had now given way to something more tense, as the air around them became charged with an electricity in which they were the conductors.  
  
He took measly steps forward. That was saying something, since he had the overall manner of a man who knew how to take and influence others just by the sheer gravity of his charms. But Ishtar's presence, combined with the unwavering dignity of her silence, was enough to turn him meek, a lamb.   
  
“You look well, my love,” he remarked, the tone rather shy.  
  
“Love?” she choked a laugh, as her eyes that were once dusk now became a piercing, arctic blue, “You hadn’t loved me enough to keep in touch, had you? But I digress. Winning my affections should be the least of your concerns right now, Olethros. This is hardly a social call.”  
  
“Then why did you ask to meet me?” he crossed his burly arms together. The man wasn’t even trying to hide his disappointment that this was something other than a pair of lovers catching up.  
  
“I should ask you that first,” she touched a strand of hair that has come loose from her bun. The bright red shawl she wore has also slipped a few inches, “I’ve tried to send for you many times over the long centuries—”  
  
“Four. There had only been four.”  
  
“And that wasn’t enough?” Even when frowning, Ishtar still looked stunning. “So, what changed? Why heed my request this time?”  
Olethros regarded the goddess with a sympathetic gaze. She could tell that it was precisely what that was, and she can’t decide whether his pity angered or shamed her more.  
  
“Because,” he took a sweeping step forward and gently tucked a thick finger under her chin, “I know that Durga and the rest of them have granted you a home right after your temples fell and Uruk and the rest of the city-states were no longer.”  
  
He paused to lift her chin so he can admire her mortal manifestation; she's had it for so long she doesn’t even remember what her real face looked like. Under the scrutiny of her former lover, she can’t help but feel self-conscious.  
  
“Look at you even, Astarte. This face and identity you have adapted is that of a Brahmin girl. So why have you traveled here in an Islamic land, my love? And Baghdad, of all places?”  
  
“I have unfinished business,” she said tersely, resisting the urge to push his hand away, “And besides, I only came because I discovered that there’s a small group of followers in this city who still pray to my name.”  
  
Now Olethros was intrigued by this revelation that’s startling in its own way. He stopped touching her and glanced at the sky and the brilliance of its stars.   
  
Meanwhile, Ishtar chose a couch to sit on. She smoothed the wrinkles of her sari as soon as she crossed her legs.  
  
To his credit, the man didn’t immediately ask for more information about these followers and instead opted to learn more about her living situation in general.  
  
“The last fifteen years had been a transformative experience for everyone in that region,” he spoke with deft understanding that since he left his realm, chaos has become even more rampant than it had to be.   
  
The Indian Independence movement as well as the Partition served as two of the most recent haunting examples.   
  
Ishtar had been there for a lot of the struggle that occurred. Even the gods of both pantheons could not broker a truce between one another, not while their followers are mad with fanatic lust and vengeful thirst. As for herself, she came from a very old civilization with more straightforward rituals, and so the ongoing changes in the climate of how faith is passed down from one generation to the next admittedly made her anxious and cynical.  
  
She disapproved of the terrible lengths these two religions tried to obliterate one another, the breaking point of which was during the Partition. To her, gods of neighboring lands should learn to co-exist and make their devouts do the same. The kingdoms of Two Rivers, Valley and Nile had done so for centuries.  
  
｢The world was young then｣ Ganesha interjected one day when she aired out these concerns, ｢And so are we. But as humans continue to populate and prosper, the gods they believe in also flourish and grow stronger along with them｣  
  
‘And you call this prosperous?’ Ishtar wanted to get angry. She knew how to get angry before, but Ganesha was right. They were old and the world will only keep growing up before their weary eyes.   
  
If she still had power now, she would have at least saved the women of India and Pakistan. That was the one thing that haunted her to this day.  
  
A tension in her shoulders made her lean back against the clam-shell couch, craning her neck as far as it would go until the sky was all she can see. Nothing about the stars and their deceptive shining lights amazed her. Olethros was right to say they were either dead or dying.  
  
She knew firsthand the paradox of such an existence.  
  
In another time, in a place where the female is recognized as an equal ideal to the male, Ishtar’s role as Queen of Heaven was the realization of that truth. A goddess of both love and war, she was everything to her people. Mighty kings and their ambitious wives with armies at their command beckoned her to bless what they had—from copulation to labor to conquest.  
  
If Ishtar still reigned as a supreme goddess (and the Sumerian empire still thrived), she could have done something for the women abducted and raped during the Partition, regardless whether they were Sikh, Hindu or Muslim.   
  
Durga scoffed at her when she made a mistake of disclosing her feelings on the matter.   
  
｢That is not the god in you speaking, Anat, but the human｣  
  
The other goddess respected her well enough, but Ishtar could also tell that Durga was beginning to dismiss her relevance as a deity.   
If their positions were switched, Ishtar knew she would have been just as snobbish. Durga was everything Ishtar used to be, and that’s how they became fast friends when she first arrived to the subcontinent. But now the very same thing that brought them together had driven a wedge.   
  
They've begun to talk less and less. Their last conversation was something Ishtar will never forget.  
  
｢You are becoming more earth-bound because of this flesh you must live with｣ Durga reached out to rub a thumb on Ishtar’s forehead where the black bindi she herself had applied long ago as part of a ceremony remained etched on her friend's skin.  
  
｢…but unless you want to turn mortal, you should not dare dwell on such frothy sentiments｣  
  
Durga pulled away, sneering slightly as she stared. It was if they ceased to be two equals in that moment.  
  
With an exhale, the Hindu goddess looked away first, citing ｢Only humans have the privilege of questioning their place in creation. And that’s why they need us｣  
  
Ishtar didn’t want to share these morose contemplation with Olethros at the moment. It would be pointless to blame him for any of it too, especially since she profusely supported his decision to retire. Even if she had known the ripples it would create throughout human history, Ishtar still would have stood by Olethros because love abides.   
  
Sitting here among the stars with him should have been romantic, but regret and resentment remained, this unwanted sillage polluting the breathing space they share.  
  
Choosing to avoid the subject altogether concerning the conflicts she witnessed in India was not easy, so she did say at least, “In the last three years, I’ve been traveling in and out of the country after what happened...” Ishtar fixed her hair and shawl, “And though I do consider India as my permanent residence, I still needed the time away. And I was called to Baghdad quite suddenly.”  
  
“How long ago?”  
  
“Six months ago.”  
  
Closing her eyes, Ishtar placed a palm over her chest. A serene smile was on her lips now too.  
  
“They’ve been praying to me.”  
  
It had been so long since anyone made an altar in her name and asked for her blessing.   
  
When she opened her eyes again, Olethros looked at her rather sadly, mainly because he understood how much it meant. The man had knelt on his haunches by the floor instead of on the couch next to her. He wouldn’t have fitted anyway, not with his girth.  
  
“What have you been doing in Baghdad?” He inquired. This position has allowed him to level their gazes upon one another. “I assume you haven’t met these followers you speak of? Otherwise, you would be there with them right now.”  
  
Ishtar was somewhat defensive in her response: “I can’t reveal myself to these people even if they do possess the faith. As for what I’ve been doing so far, I merely work as a companion to the elite. It’s financially substantial, as far as earning my keep goes.”  
  
It was a fancy (if not euphemistic) way, to characterize that she was an expensive prostitute. Not that Olethros would even judge.   
  
Certain human taboos and prejudices were never something they cared for although Ishtar herself has to contend co-existing with such restrictions if she ever wanted to survive living in anonymity as an Indian woman in a society rife with religious and political tensions, both back in South Asia and here in the Arab states.  
  
“But I know that sooner or later I should answer their prayers,” her gaze flickered downwards to observe her hands, “…and the more fervent they pray to me, the more I feel myself becoming whole. There’s a covenant that exists between any god and the faithful, and it is known as the Old Way, sacred and binding.”  
  
“So that’s why I'm here,” Olethros peered into her eyes to seek the truth in them that's far more earnest than anything she could say, “You want another shot at real divinity again, don’t you? And this small group you spoke of—they’re just a starting point.”  
  
“The other gods have turned blind and deaf. And none of them cares about the women who cry most of all.”  
“Not you, of course.”  
  
Her hands clenched into fists. “I could still hear them along the borders that separate India and Pakistan, calling to gods I know will never grant them respite or vengeance.”  
  
“So you left because you couldn’t do anything.”  
  
“I was so powerless. And I don’t want to be anymore.”  
  
Olethros has gone quiet. This lasted for several moments before he asked, “You want to start a new religion. In your name, like the olden days.”  
  
The smile that Ishtar bestowed her former love has a tinge of bitterness she even felt in her bones.  
  
“You know me very well,” was all she said. Before he can even stop herself, her hands framed his face with the palms grazing against his well-kept beard, caressing it.   
  
She should have kissed him right then. She had missed his taste and his laughter and the eternity they could have had. But, most of all, she missed who she had been; the powerful, most supreme goddess queen who more than earned the love of one of the Endless, Destruction—her precious Olethros.  
  
Still, Ishtar withdrew her hands. She had to let him go now.  
  
If Olethros could abandon his realm and live off his unending existence free of his obligations, then so should she pursue her own path towards the one place she will always belong.  
  
Not in any man's arms for either love or lust—not among other deities who pitied or diminished her worth—but back at the top with a throne which awaits for her to claim.  
  
She rose to her feet, mindful that Olethros was doing the same beside her. He was a tower which she climbed long ago, taller than any of the skyscrapers Baghdad has to offer. And so Ishtar was not fearful of what was out there tonight and how steep the heights she had to reach for many days to come.  
  
It would take a century and even more, she knew, so from this point forward she will no longer squander her eternity.  
  
“Come,” she walked forward before glancing once at Olethros still standing behind her.  
  
The blue in her eyes was no longer cold, not while she smiled like that at him.  
  
“Let us find them together. Let us meet these men and women who still worship me in the last place they should. For what is a god, really, without believers?”

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**[@OHSHESTIRSCHAOS](https://twitter.com/ohshestirschaos) **

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